love is all there is...

Solace
2:25 a.m. || 2002-10-13
Alone in a gloomy nightmare (always the same, ever changing) a girl forgets. She forgets herself, her family (her pain). This is my story.

Blood stains the walls and carpet. But the blood is hers, and it�s not bad for a hotel room, considering where she usually sleeps, if you can call it sleep. The room is small, containing only a bed and a restroom. A counter inlaid with a sink is set into the wall at the far end of the room, under a huge mirror. The bed is near the door and rests upon a base of rotting wood. An old spread is draped across it that obviously has not been washed in weeks. Overlooking the bed are two three-foot windows covered in ancient sheets and cracked blinds. The room is dark and roaches scuttle about. Thick smoke is encircles the lamp. It�s not much, but it�s hers for now.

She tosses her long, curly hair back and ties it loosely in a dirty knot. "Where is it!" she thinks, frantically searching; under the grungy mattress, in the mildewed shower curtains, even in the greasy cracks where the carpet of the hotel room meets the dingy walls. Panic overwhelms her. She begins to search her own slender, defective body. She turns every pocket inside out, empties every baggy, takes off her old Nikes and dumps them out� nowhere to be found. Stopping to ponder the situation, she takes a deep breath; the smoky, saccharine scent of her room pours itself up her nose, into her very being. She shivers, cold but not really feeling it. Lifting a glass pipe to her lips, the tears that threaten to spill down her pale cheeks freeze in the corner of her eyes. For a moment, everything is ok. Her brain numb, her panic lessened considerably, she resumes her frantic search.

"Eh, there it is," she says, cursing her stupidity.

A magic wand designed just for her, a faerie tale at the tip of her fingers. It lies inside a tiny hole cut in the lining of her bra, where it always is. The syringe is fairly new, and she quivers as she removes it from its compulsory hiding spot.

Hopping up on the bathroom counter, she leans over, brushing back straying strands of chocolate hair. She glances at herself in the mirror, trying to remember who she really is. A sparse hint of recognition flickers in her russet eyes, and then she turns away quickly. Just a pinch, she thinks as she rubs the charred spoon clean. The smell of death infiltrates her nostrils as opens a small bag. She relishes the intriguing scent, and her heart pounds. Medicine for an abandoned and broken soul. . .

*BANG* *bang, bang*

The fading girl leaps off her pedestal, startled. "Hmm," she wonders, "who could that be."

Glancing briefly at the clock, she rushes to stash her enchanted potion, her life line. She squats and shoves it onto a shelf under the sink. Her skin appears sallow in the flickering overhead light, and the soft space under her eyes seems almost purple.

She approaches the door with caution. Squinting to see through the peephole and seeing nothing more than a steamed up dark circle, she cracks the blinds and peers out...

"Stupid paranoia," she mutters to herself.

"It's just me! Let me in. We have business." the man says in a husky voice, his tone impatient. She opens the door, and lets him in.

"Is it time to go already?" She asks.

"Yes. We have to pay for this room tomorrow." he replies. �Are you hungry?�

She snorts, and shakes her head. � No, I�ve already eaten,� She lies.

The girl studies herself in the mirror, rubs a bit of pale gloss onto her full lips, trying to soothe the blister left behind from suckling the hot pipe. She dons a midnight blue, oversize sweatshirt to hide the gaping razor mouths and needle bruises that cover her arms. It is marked with her college name in white, and the last time it was washed was in her mother�s house so long ago... In her head, voices scream failure.

Why did they throw her away like so much trash? Home is where the heart is�. The thought flits through her mind like quicksilver, but vanishes � a ghost in the mist.

They exit the room in a hurry, as if running. Escaping from themselves... but to where? She wonders�A Marlboro dangles loosely between her lips, the glow burning her spirit. She flicks it and clicks her heels�

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